


Traced Lines

by hear_her_speak



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battle, Blood, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Disability, F/M, Head Injury, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pro-Mage, Semi-Blue Wraith Compliant, Serious Injuries, Sibling AU, Violence, anders critical, anti-templar, except for Blue Wraith....
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23251357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hear_her_speak/pseuds/hear_her_speak
Summary: In the aftermath of the events at Kirkwall, Fenris travels with Garrett Hawke, the Champion, now exile and rebel mage.  Garrett has lost everything - his family, his lover, his status - Fenris watched it all happen.  He looks out over the destroyed remains of Kirkwall, the closest thing he's ever had to a home going up in flames.  It seems to him that there's no hope now that so much has been destroyed, but little does he know that a chance encounter with a stranger in the woods will change all their lives for the better.
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke, Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Traced Lines

**Author's Note:**

> This narrative, like so many others, was born out of a non-cannon play through that I had trouble letting go of. 
> 
> The events of this piece will span from the very end of Dragon Age II through the ending of Inquisition and beyond.

The group of them sat round a campfire in silence, the turrets of the city still looming in the distance, though they were far enough from it’s reach for the time being. No one would come after them. Not tonight. The shock was still too near for the people of Kirkwall, and they had bigger problems than an apostate mage and his merry band of friends.

The thought still didn’t sit well with Fenris, that he was friends with a mage. He told himself that Hawke was different. Hawke wasn’t like other Mages. Hawke could control himself where they could not. The alternative was worse, but he could not dwell on that. And Hawke was a good man, there was no doubt about it. So when Hawke had defended the Mages, he followed. When Hawke fled the city, he followed. And now, whatever was next, he’d follow, though he was unsure where that might lead. Still, he had no home and no ties. Where else would he go, anyways?

Hawke must have been asking himself the same thing. He stared into the flames, lost in thought, pain etched into the lines of his face. Fenris exchanged looks with Varric and Aveline. None of them knew what to say. It had only been six years since they met, and yet Hawke looked as if he’d aged twenty. He had been so bright, then, in those early days, so full of life. There was hardly anything left of that man, now. Hawke had told him briefly of his two sisters and their deaths, long ago, one at Ostagar, the other on the road from Lothering, and he’d dimmed when he spoke of them, though he could still shake the grief from his mind and carry on. When Carver had joined the Templars, there was still a fire in Hawke’s eyes, but he stopped telling jokes so much. Fenris felt that Carver had made a good choice, but he understood the betrayal Hawke must have felt. Then Leandra was murdered. He’d been there when it happened. Hawke had never been the same after that. But all of them had agreed, in passing glances if not in words, that things would get better after that. They had to. Hawke had hit rock bottom. Where else was there to go but up?

And then two days ago, Anders had betrayed them all by using an act of terror to incite action in the Mage/Templar conflict. Hawke had spared him, made him atone for his sins by helping the Mages, then sent him away with a threat that he would kill him if ever their paths crossed again. Fenris doubted that Hawke would be able to actually go through with it if it came to that, but then again, this was a new Hawke. Who knew what he might be capable of?

With Ander’s betrayal, the last bit of fire behind Hawke’s eyes died. Varric was taking it the hardest, there was no doubt about that. He sat beside Hawke, his eyes sad and heavy, staring into the same fire, a hand resting on Hawke’s shoulder. Aveline stood guard a few paces behind Hawke, her back to him, her eyes scanning the horizon. Her teeth worried across her bottom lip, and her brows were scrunched in a tight V. Merrill was pacing, and it was driving them all nuts. It made Fenris nervous, and he struggled not to blow. Yelling at her would do no good, now, and he knew that. But he still had more rage than he knew how to handle.

He stood and walked away from the fire, no longer able to control himself. He would brood - as Varric called it - somewhere else. He stormed off into the forest, anxious and furious. It’d been two days since they left Kirkwall, two days since setting up camp, and all this time Hawke hadn’t said a word. Fenris felt helpless and restless. He wanted to hunt down Anders and rip his heart out of his chest. But he would wait for Hawke. Why, he barely knew, but he would. And so he wandered through the trees, kicking up rocks as he went.

Then he heard the snap of a twig and grabbed the hilt of his sword. It was probably nothing, probably just an animal, but he’d been on edge ever since they’d left. Cullen had let them go, but who knew if the Templars would be satisfied to let them be forever. Hawke was an apostate, and a known associate of Anders. And with his target being the Chantry, the Divine would probably want to ask him a few questions. It was only a matter of time.

From the darkness, Fenris saw a creature emerge from the shadows. It was large and quadrupedal. At first he thought it was a wolf, but as it came closer, he recognized it as a Mabari. It growled at him as he approached, and he unsheathed his weapon and held it at the ready. Still, he was relieved to see the animal. Not every Ferelden had been so lucky as to make it to Kirkwall, and many of those who didn’t had left their pets to the wilds of the Free Marches. He could handle a dog. It was people he was wary of. 

Just as the relief crossed his mind, he saw a hooded figure on a massive horse emerge from the woods behind the beast. The figure held a bow angled down with an arrow notched, but not drawn. The mount was restless and stamped the ground, but the rider was still and silent as the grave. The mabari’s growls grew in vigor.

“Hush, Lady,” came the voice of a woman from the figure. Between her accent and the hound, Fenris could only assume she was Ferelden. The dog whined at the command, then continued to growl, but it was more reserved than before.

“State your business!” he called. “I hadn’t planned on it, but if it’s a fight you want, I’m happy to oblige.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” came the voice of a woman, “I’m just trying to pass through.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Fenris scoffed. “Your dog suggests otherwise.”

The woman laughed and pulled back the hood of her cloak. Her dark hair fell just over her shoulders and she had blunt, black bangs across her forehead. Her face was round and her eyes dark. That was all he could make out, even with the advantage his eyes gave him in the dark. “Lady’s just overprotective, that’s all. We’ve been through quite a lot together, haven’t we, Lady?” The last part, addressed to the dog, was a fond coo. The dog woofed in agreement, and began to wag her tail. The horse, in turn, whinnied, as if it was in on the conversation. Fenris still held his blade at the ready, but his grip eased. The girl shifted the arrow to hold both it and the bow with one hand and raised the other in the air. “Please,” she said, “I mean no harm. I swear it.”

It was a dangerous thing to pass this close to Kirkwall at night. He wanted to believe her. He was still exhausted after their battle with Meredith. If he could reasonably trust her enough to let her go, he would. He just needed to find out if he could trust her. 

“Who are you?”

“My name is Charlotte,” she said.

“Where are you heading?”

“Kirkwall.”

He scoffed. “The only people heading to Kirkwall right now should be those on an Exalted March.”

“Please,” she said, “I know it sounds crazy. I’m just trying to find someone.” There was a desperation behind her voice that he could not deny. He was at an impasse. He couldn’t just let her go. There was a chance, however small, that this could all be an act, but if it wasn’t, then he wanted nothing more than to let her go. He wished Hawke was there. He always seemed to know what to do.

“Vishante Kaffas!”

“I don’t want to fight you, elf,” she said.

He lowered his blade. “Nor I you.”

The tension eased, but did not dissipate. At length, Charlotte asked, “Is it really that bad in Kirkwall?”

“News travels quickly it seems.”

“It’s all they talked about at the inn I stayed in last night.”

“The city nearly tore itself apart,” he said.

“And the Chantry is really…?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “Maker have mercy on us!” She spurred her mount forward, closing some of the distance between them. He raised his blade slightly in warning, but she paid him no head. Lady, however, was quite aware of his blade. She bared her teeth in an ugly snarl. Charlotte’s grip tightened on her bow. “You’re from Kirkwall, yes?”

“Not originally,” he said, “but it has been my home these last six years.”

“Then, you’ve heard of the Champion I assume? Garrett Hawke?”

Fenris laughed. “You could say that.”

“I have to find him. Please, if you know anything… Is he alive? Is he hurt? Anything you know would help.”

Fenris stared her down. She could be Chantry or Templar or a Mercenary hired to bring Hawke in. He wasn’t about to give Hawke up. “I don’t know. Last I heard he fled the city. But, then again, many of us did.”

She looked away from him, and in the moonlight he saw the faintest glimmer of tears. “Fuck. Do you have any idea where he went?” she asked. She reached for a pouch at her belt and untied it. “It’s not much,” she said, holding the bag aloft, “but it’s all I have.”

“What business could you possibly have with the Champion of Kirkwall?” he scoffed.  
She hesitated, and Fenris wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her. At length, she stammered, “He’s my brother.”


End file.
